


Put Up Your Hands

by OverMyFreckledBody



Category: Original Work
Genre: Illegal Activities, M/M, POV Second Person, Pining, Pokemon GO - Freeform, Smoking, just a smidge, referenced anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 23:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7777801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe you know each other like nobody else. Maybe this pull between the two of you is something else. Maybe everything will turn out for the best. </p><p>But maybe it won't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Put Up Your Hands

**Author's Note:**

> [these two](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7381636#main) make a return.
> 
> long walks for the pokemon give the weirdest inspiration, y'know? and this totally didn't even go in the direction I thought it would.
> 
> [this is the music](https://listenonrepeat.com/?v=hrXgJ2J8dag#Panic!_At_The_Disco-Nicotine_\(Lyrics\)) that, if you don't pay attention to the lyrics (though you can and it'll be fine), set the mood better than the [this one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OpNbTlehSHU) \- which is where the lyrics do actually fit and i totally took the title from.

                “Baby,” he greets you, and his voice is kind of scratchy, but you like it just the same. You see his figure leaning against the chain link fence as he holds his fingers close to his lips, but you notice that his whole form straightens up at the sight of you (and if that doesn’t quicken your pace to meet up with him, oh, what would?). He turns his head to blow the smoke out of from between his lips in another direction after his hello, but he keeps his eyes, gray as the ashes on the end of his cigarettes, specifically trained on you.

 

                You take a deep sigh in through your nose and stretch to cover the shiver that threatens to fall down your spine.

 

                As you step close enough, you distract him with a kiss that tastes like the toxins you shouldn’t love so much and slip the stick from him and flick it over the fence. He snorts and his breath is warm and soft, but he knows just as well as you do that if you hadn’t littered for him, he wouldn’t have dropped it until he found a trash bin. In return, you slip your hands up and brush against the short, blonde hairs on the back of his neck, and groan when he grips both your shirt and whatever you threw over it in an effort to pull you more against his mouth.

 

                When you pull back, he doesn’t even try to be subtle about the way he has to blink himself back into focusing on everything that isn’t your mouth, so you keep your tone soft, amused, when you ask if he’s ready to go. He mumbles something nondescript, and you step just out of reach so you can pull your phone out and unlock it while he does the same. While yours is soundless, the only sounds coming from you tapping or swiping a couple things, his plays the quiet tune from the app on low, something you’re sure will be something to be thankful for when you can’t think to say anything later and have nothing else to cover the silence.

 

                As the two of you begin to step toward the gravel path that leads up to the road and away from the water tower, he shifts his phone into his other hand so he can reach to hold onto yours. You tighten your grip, adjusting it just right, and wonder if you’ve ever been the first to reach for his.

 

                He probably already knows the answer to that and your mouth stretches into the unfortunately all too familiar grin at the thought that even if he does, he still continues to be the first to put himself out in the open.

 

                Down the road you end up stepping on something that isn’t just rock and though it’s dark already, or just about getting so, you can make out the _Private Property_ and right below that, in smaller lettering, _NO TRESPASSING_. One of the corners is bent back, flat enough to make you assume it’s been run over a couple times, and it looks like there’s a film of white, crushed up rock spread all over it.

 

                Your other foot steps clear over it and you focus instead on the way that the rest of your steps are aligned with his, that his thumb keeps occasionally trailing over the back of your hand. You’re glad he hasn’t noticed the sign, that he doesn’t know, because then he wouldn’t want to take you out here anymore, and since you’re not ready to tell him that you’re not opposed to doing other things with him (other things – things like _holding hands_ and telling jokes and _kissing_ under the _moon_ instead of your usual hands down pants and tongues between thighs kind of fun), you’re not ready to lose this.

 

                After another minute of walking, he slowly brings your clasped hands to his mouth so he can kiss your knuckles, even as he keeps his eyes ahead of him, and your heart constricts tightly.

 

                You _can’t_ lose this.

 

* * *

 

 

                Back at the water tower, he jerks a thumb over his shoulder, where with a single glance you can see the outline of his car, and asks if you want a ride back home. He knows that if you’re going to walk back that your trip would have you out in the dark for another half hour at least, trampling through too-tall weeds and then stumbling over cracks in the sidewalk. While it shouldn’t come as a surprise that he’s even offering, you hadn’t expected it, so you find yourself waiting, as he fidgets, until he mentions the pokestop up by the church along the way before you nod along, even if you had your answer since the second he asked.

 

                After you’ve jerked the car shut, you fiddle with turning on the car seat warmer and hunt around for a water bottle while he hooks his Bluetooth up to a playlist he made sometime back once, something he claimed he made with you in mind. As the first few notes play, the beat familiar and loved, your hand freezes in its reaching for the bottle that’s just under his seat. He doesn’t notice – why would he? It’s not as if he hasn’t played this song in the car before – and to make sure he doesn’t, you quickly snatch up the plastic and, quick in your need to cover your panic, jerk the neck of it to your lips as soon as the cap is off.

 

                There’s a little bit of a spill, only on your chin, really, and not enough that it’ll collect and drip, but it’s still a bit embarrassing, uncomfortable. When you bring the bottle down again, slower and calmer than before, he reaches over. You turn, fingers absently twisting the cap back on, to see chapped lips arching into an amused grin as he thumbs away the liquid, wiping it away on the hem of his shirt when he’s finished. You feel a little silly that you’re watching him instead of listening to your favorite song and wondering why he simply wiped it on his shirt instead of onto his tongue, like some kind of not quiet indirect kiss.

 

                But, well.

 

                It’s just water.

 

                He shifts gears and you look down at your lap, tapping your phone to keep it from falling asleep. When he starts to hum along, you turn it up for him and rest your hand on his leg, high enough so that you won’t accidentally brush against any wet spots if there are any. You get a smile for that, pleased, warm enough that in your chest, and he pulls out onto the gravel road.

 

                Maybe you’re not quite holding hands, but you two _are_ under the moon, and the air is light as if someone had just been laughing, so if this is as close as you can get, you’ll take it. You’d rather not lose _him_.

**Author's Note:**

> [my writing tumblr.](http://overmyfreckledbody.tumblr.com/)
> 
> comments/kudos are great and I would love anything you had to say! thanks for reading!!


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